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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554853">don't forget your lines</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea'>livtontea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Character Death, Crack Treated Seriously, Gore, Graphic Description, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Multi, Murder, No Incest, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Why Did I Write This?, bave is CURSED kjhsfksd, but like... i got carried away and treated it too seriously, i tagged bave bc i am chaos and i wanna inflict misery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:09:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave goes on a lot of dates, and a lot of people die.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dave &amp; The Hargreeves, Dave/Ben Hargreeves, Dave/Everyone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don't forget your lines</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thanks @princejoopie and @apocalypse-gang for this inspiration, also lem but i cant remember her url, this fic is for you all specifically &lt;3 im posting this at 12:36am so sorry about any errors lmao</p><p>god what am i doing im so sorry for this shitshow askdjfds</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first date is with Luther. They meet at the town observatory, Luther dressed in a collared shirt under a trench coat and holding a bouquet of daisies that looks small in his large hands.</p><p>“Hey,” he says to Dave when he comes into sight.</p><p>“Hey,” Dave says back. “You ready?”</p><p>“Yeah,” says Luther. “Here—” he fumbles a bit transferring the daisies to Dave’s hands. “—these are for you.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Dave smells the flowers. They’re nice, and he appreciates the gesture.</p><p>“No problem. Shall we?”</p><p>Luther holds out his hand, and Dave takes it. They walk into the observatory.</p><p>-</p><p>“And that’s Ursa Major,” Luther is saying as the projections move across the curved ceiling of the observatory. Dave watches, enraptured. The stars dance across the black background, forming constellations and galaxies.</p><p>“They’re beautiful,” he says. “The stars.”</p><p>“Yeah,” chuckles Luther. He looks at Dave from the side of his eye and smiles. “They really are.”</p><p>-</p><p>Luther and Dave walk out of the building hand in hand, the taller man talking animatedly as Dave listens. He tells him about stars and planets and constellations and moons, and Dave listens. Luther knows a lot about space. It’s nice, to be able to just listen without having to say anything.</p><p>Suddenly, something shoots out of the nearby bushes and hits Luther.. He freezes, looking down at the heart-tipped Cupid’s arrow in his chest.</p><p>Luther lets out a gurgle as red liquid dribbles from where he was hit. He presses his hand to where he’s bleeding, fingers coming away red.</p><p>“Oh my god,” says Dave. He lets go of Luther’s hand, fingers fumbling for his phone in his pocket. “Holy shit, I’m calling the ambulance, Luther, say something.”</p><p>Luther opens his mouth and more red falls from his lips, dribbling onto the front of his shirt. Dave’s hands shake as he dials 911 and presses his phone to his ear. He tries to put pressure on the wound, but it’s no use. Luther sinks to his knees, still clutching at where he was shot.</p><p>The dial tone is cut off with Dave’s finger. His hand falls away from his ear. Luther is lying motionless on the ground, and he isn’t breathing.</p><p>“Oh my god,” says Dave again. “Luther. Say something.”</p><p>Luther doesn’t say anything. Dave falls next to Luther’s body. He pushes at his date’s shoulders, looking into his blank eyes. A sob falls out of his mouth, and then he’s bawling over Luther’s body.</p><p>When he calms down enough to breathe, he dials a different number with numb fingers. When Allison picks up, his voice is dull. “Somebody shot Luther. We have to start planning a funeral.”</p><p>-</p><p>The funeral is simple. Short. Dave attends it, and then goes home and lays in bed, numb to the world. This isn’t the first time he’s seen somebody die in front of him.</p><p>-</p><p>The second date is with Diego. They go out to a simple coffee shop, Diego pushing the doors open exactly seven minutes late. He scans the small establishment, and then makes a beeline to where Dave is sitting when he spots him. He’s wearing a t-shirt. Dave can see a knife hanging from his belt loop.</p><p>“Sorry I’m late,” says Diego as he slips into the seat.</p><p>“It’s fine,” says Dave. “You’re here now.”</p><p>Diego smiles a little shyly. Dave smiles back. He orders a latte—Diego orders black coffee. Dave pretends he doesn’t notice when he dumps three packets of sugar into it. They sit and talk, Diego asking polite and interested questions about whatever Dave is telling him.</p><p>“Wow,” he laughs just as Dave recounts a story from his time in the military. “That’s incredible. You’re incredible.”</p><p>Dave laughs as his face tinges pink. “Oh, it’s nothing impressive.”</p><p>“No, really,” insists Diego. “You’re amazing. I almost can’t believe you’re real.”</p><p>“Well, thank you. I’m glad you’re here.”</p><p>“I’m glad to be here,” says Diego, and Dave reaches across the table and takes his hand. They grin at each other, and keep talking.</p><p>-</p><p>Diego is walking Dave home when he freezes in his tracks. He keels over, hands pressing to his stomach, face green.</p><p>“Diego? Are you okay?” Diego groans in response. Dave’s hands hover nervously over Diego, unsure of whether he should rub his back or something.</p><p>“I don’t feel good…”</p><p>Diego turns to the side and throws up on the cement slope that leads to the sewers. There are streaks of red in what comes up. Dave fights his own nausea and pulls out his phone.</p><p>“Hold still, it’ll be fine, let me just call for help. I think you—I think you might’ve been poisoned. It’s gonna be okay, Diego, it’s gonna be okay, just—breathe with me, breathe with me.”</p><p>Diego’s inhales and exhales grow heavy and labored, and soon he isn’t breathing at all.</p><p>Dave slowly presses the backspace on the three digits he was typing, and punches in Allison’s number.</p><p>“He’s gone.”</p><p>-</p><p>Diego’s funeral is quiet. Too quiet. When Dave gets home, he sits at his kitchen table and doesn’t look at the drawer he keeps his knives in. This isn't the first time somebody has died in front of him.</p><p>-</p><p>The third date is with Allison. Dave is nervous. She calls him to let him know she’s running a bit late to the playhouse, and he stares at her number flashing on the screen for a couple of seconds before picking up.</p><p>When she arrives, she flashes him a smile, and reaches up to peck his cheek. Dave smiles back at her. She takes his arm and leads him inside the theater. Her eyes are covered by barely opaque sunglasses. She's wearing a scarf.</p><p>-</p><p>The play isn’t a short one. When they leave the audience for intermission, Dave’s feet have gone numb, pins and needles dancing up and down his skin. Allison is holding his hand, swinging it slightly between them.</p><p>“I’m gay.”</p><p>Allison looks at him from the side of her eye. “I know.”</p><p>“I don’t know why I’m on a date with you.”</p><p>“Shh,” she says, pressing a finger to her lips coyly. “I know. Stick to the script, Dave.” Her eyes are wide, filled with pressing urgency, and deeper than that, fear.</p><p>“Right. Sorry.”</p><p>As they pass a vendor selling whatever basic theater snack, a shape darts out and grabs onto Allison's scarf. She makes a surprised sound, and then wheezes. The end of her garment is stuck in some sort of machine, winding it tighter and tighter around her neck.</p><p>Dave tries to tear the fabric from her throat, but it's too late. Allison's eyes roll into her head, and she falls down, dead. Just like that.</p><p>He first dials Allison's number out of habit, then feels sick when her phone rings in her pocket. He hangs up, because she's not going to answer. Her sunglasses are broken—the bridge is snapped, held together by translucent tape. He doesn't know how he didn't notice before.</p><p>"Vanya? Yeah, sorry, I couldn't call Allison. She's—" Her corpse is probably still warm. "She's the third."</p><p>-</p><p>Allison's funeral, thankfully, isn't open to the public.</p><p>When Dave gets home, he buries all of his scarves to the bottom of his closet.</p><p>This is not the first time he has seen somebody die.</p><p>-</p><p>His next date is with Ben. Ben asks him to meet at the biggest library in town, and when Dave gets there, he's already curled up on one of the chairs, nose buried in a book.</p><p>"Sit," he says invitingly. Dave lowers himself into the chair next to the man, hands starkly empty of anything to read. Ben pushes a book into his hands. Generic murder mystery. Dave looks at Ben and feels a shiver run through his body.</p><p>“You’re probably wondering what’s going on.”</p><p>“Yeah,” says Dave. “Yeah, I am. I mean, everyone I’ve—”</p><p>“Shh!” hisses Ben. “Don’t say it. Don’t say anything. Just listen, okay? I’m next, you know this. There isn’t a lot of time.”</p><p>Dave opens his mouth to ask Ben what the <em>fuck</em> he’s talking about, but thinks better of it. He nods.</p><p>“You have one more after this. She isn’t going to spare me, but might go easy on her.” Dave winces. He’s really gay. “Yeah, yeah, I know, she’s a woman, but this’ll be the last one if everything goes well, promise.”</p><p>A floorboard creaks somewhere near them, and Ben freezes. <em>“Shit,”</em> he whispers. “Okay. Just remember, stick to the script.”</p><p>Dave can’t resist the question this time. “What script— <em>mmph!”</em></p><p>“Not a word,” mumbles Ben against his lips. “Just kiss me. He’s almost here.”</p><p><em>Okay,</em> thinks Dave, and kisses Ben. He doesn’t know who <em>She</em> is, but okay. He’s kissing Ben, and it feels many levels of wrong. The murder mystery he was holding has fallen closed onto his lap, and Ben’s book is gone. Just gone.</p><p>Ben pulls away. He grins at Dave impishly and winks—and then he’s gone too. He just disappears—one moment he’s there, and the next Dave is staring at a worn copy of <em>Slaughterhouse - Five</em> on the cushions. That isn’t the book Ben was reading, he’s sure of it.</p><p>-</p><p>A shadow falls over it. Dave looks up.</p><p>“Hello,” says a boy in blue shorts and a blazer. “Have you seen my brother?”</p><p>“...Who?”</p><p>“My brother. He was just here. That’s his book.”</p><p>“...Kid, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Don’t call me kid,” snaps the boy. “Where’s my brother?”</p><p>Dave has a feeling he shouldn’t tell the boy about Ben disappearing into nothing. “What’s your name?”</p><p>The boy wrinkles his nose. “Does it matter?”</p><p>“A little bit,” says Dave. The boy seems to contemplate it.</p><p>“Quentin.”</p><p>“Quentin?”</p><p>“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah. I guess so.”</p><p>“<em>You guess so,”</em> mocks Quentin. “Why are you reading <em>The Adventure of the Speckled Band?</em> Where’s my brother? I’ve been looking for him.”</p><p>Dave looks down at the Sherlock Holms story in his lap. “I don’t know where he is.”</p><p>“I don’t think you’re telling the truth. He told me to tell you She’s on Her way. Be ready, David Katz.”</p><p>Quentin turns around and starts walking out of the library. Half way down the rows of books, he flashes blue and is gone. Dave gapes at where the young boy just was.</p><p>-</p><p>There is no funeral, because Ben has been dead for years. Dave goes home, and finds himself staring at the ceiling, perturbed—he dreams of ghosts.</p><p>-</p><p>This time Dave is babysitting.</p><p>Quentin kicks his legs against the edge of the counter. They’re in Dave’s kitchen. Dave is trying to make dinner, but Quentin is being very adamant in being unhelpful. Dave keeps sneaking glances at the boy who is dressed much more normal than last time he saw him. He’s wearing a hoodie and a pair of slightly battered jeans.</p><p>“Quentin? Can you pass me the salt?”</p><p>Quentin wordlessly hands Dave the saltshaker. Dave mumbles his thanks and shakes a bit of it into the pot he’s stirring on low heat.</p><p>“What’s going on, Quentin?”</p><p>“You know that isn’t my name, right?”</p><p>“You told me your name was Quentin.”</p><p>“<em>Yeah,</em> in the <em>library</em>. This isn’t the library. Weren’t you listening when my sister told you my name?”</p><p>Dave can’t remember what to call the boy. “I was.”</p><p>Not-Quentin snorts. “It’s Five.”</p><p>“Five? Is that short for something?”</p><p>“<em>No. </em>It’s my fucking <em>name.</em>”</p><p>“Hey.” Dave reaches over and flicks Five’s (Five’s?) forehead. “Watch your language.”</p><p>“Oh, go choke on a fire poker,” mutters the teen.</p><p>“...Okay. So what’s happening? Are you going to tell me anything, or am I supposed to just, <em>‘stick to the script’?</em>”</p><p>Five nods. “Yeah. Pretty much. Just go with it.”</p><p>“Just go with it. Alright. Cool. How many more people are going to die in front of me?”</p><p>The little window above Dave’s sink shatters, and a bullet plants itself in Five’s chest. He looks up, grinning a plastic grin. “One more at least, for sure.”</p><p>And then he falls backward and dies.</p><p>Dave stares at the boy’s body on his counter. He’s leaking blood all over the tile. The stew he’s cooking simmers. Glass litters the inside of the sink and the floor around it. Dave presses a hand to his mouth, and dial’s Vanya’s number.</p><p>-</p><p>This funeral is… strange. There’s a woman in black at the back of the rows. She’s wearing a veil. Her lips are painted bright red, grinning a predator’s grin.</p><p>Dave shivers as he walks home, and when he crawls under his covers to sleep, he still feels cold all over. When he closes his eyes, the backs of his eyelids are blue instead of the usual orange.</p><p>-</p><p>Vanya meets him backstage in the theater. She’s still holding her violin—her practice just finished.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>“You have questions.”</p><p>“Yeah. Plenty.”</p><p>“I thought so.” Vanya nods to the emtpy audience. “I’ll meet you in the front row.”</p><p>When she gets down, her violin is in its case, and she’s let her hair down. She’s wearing a buttondown and a tie. “Okay. Okay, so. You can’t say anything, because you have to stick to the script. I’m going to die either way. Just listen.”</p><p>“That’s what Ben said,” mumbles Dave. Vanya shoots him a look, and he closes his mouth.</p><p>“Yes. He did. Shut it. Anyway, it’s really simple, actually. Somebody is killing us, and <em>you,”</em> she sticks her finger into Dave’s chest, “are the center of it all. Don’t ask why, I have no clue. But She’s killing everyone but you… Which is weird.”</p><p>“Vanya, what does this all <em>mean.</em>”</p><p>“Nothing! For all I know, none of it means <em>anything.</em> But you don’t know that. So maybe, it means everything.”</p><p>“You’re talking like Klaus.”</p><p>Vanya’s eyes widen a fraction. “You know Klaus?”</p><p>“...Well, yeah. We’re—” his mind is blank. “I don’t know what we are. He’s important.”</p><p><em>“Yes,”</em> says Vanya. “Very. He’s—he’s really important. Just, try not to keep forgetting, okay? And also,” she pauses, turning her head slightly. “I won’t be able to plan my own funeral. Sorry.”</p><p>A blade hits her neck, severing a thick artery. Vanya chokes on her blood, and there’s nothing Dave can do to stop it.</p><p>“<em>Go,” </em>she manages to force out. “Fucking<em> run.”</em></p><p>Dave runs.</p><p>-</p><p>Dave runs to the roof of his apartment building, where he knows he’ll find him. Klaus is floating in the middle of the roof. He barely moves a muscle when Dave bursts from the security entrance.</p><p>“What the fuck,” he wheezes. “Klaus, what <em>is</em> this?”</p><p>Klaus lowers onto the ground silently, and slowly turns around. He cocks his head, looking at Dave with big green eyes.</p><p>“You went off script. This is a mistake.”</p><p>Dave gapes at Klaus, still gasping for breath. “What?”</p><p>“She knows where you are,” he says. “She’s coming, already—can’t you hear her?”</p><p>He can hear nothing but the pounding in his ears, and then he can hear nothing at all. Klaus lunges forward and catches Dave, stopping him from hitting the ground. He kisses Dave, and <em>this is it, this is what it was supposed to be from the beginning.</em> Dave dies.</p><p>-</p><p>Dave wakes up in his bed. He fumbles for his phone, immediately dialing Allison’s number. There’s a moment of hesitation before she picks up, and he sighs in relief.</p><p>“Is everyone okay?”</p><p>
  <em>“Uh… Yeah, why? What’s up?”</em>
</p><p>“Nothing,” says Dave. “Absolutely nothing. I had a really weird dream last night.”</p><p><em>“Me too,”</em> crackles Ben’s voice from behind Allison. <em>“Something about Sherlock Holmes? Or was it Kurt Vonnegut?”</em></p><p>“Everyone is fine though, right? Like, alive?”</p><p>
  <em>“Dave, why would we be dead? I mean, except for me, obviously. And you, I guess, but like, we’re also both alive, so I don’t get where you’re going with this.”</em>
</p><p>“Nah,” says Dave. “Nevermind. I’m glad everyone’s okay.”</p><p>Allison laughs. <em>“Sounds like you should go back to sleep. Goodnight, Dave.”</em></p><p>“Yeah. Goodnight. Thanks, Allison.”</p><p><em>“And Ben!”</em> Dave hears Allison shove Ben, and they’re both laughing. The line disconnects.</p><p>Klaus rolls over beside him, throwing his hand over Dave’s waist and mumbling sleepily. “Mm… Don’t go off-script.”</p><p>Somewhere, the Handler laughs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my tumblr is @seven-misfits and if you ask nicely i can write more weird shit</p><p>comments appreciated! though i can see why you wouldn't want to leave one on this fic specifically</p></blockquote></div></div>
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